Of hallucinations and unicorns
by Bikami
Summary: AU. England is put in psychiatric treatment because he claims to have a unicorn and a flying mint bunny as friends. Slowly, he finds his magical friends disappearing. Written three o'clock at night, rated T because of angst. PLEASE review :D


Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, it would be waaay more angsty and waaay less cracky.

"No..." He fell to his knees, the white linen that covered him torn and bloodied, his wand broken.

He had failed. He had failed at protecting all of them. A snow white feather loosened from his now useless wings and fell to the ground. It hurt to see the pure white obscured by the dirt from the ground below his knees.

The psychiatrist told him he should be happy, that he had now moved a step forward on his way to normality. But he knew that he had lost something precious, that they were wrong. Losing your friends could never be a step on the way to normality.

Why did they even have to put him here! Just because other people couldn't see his friends, it didn't necessarily mean that they weren't existing!

But after they put him here, he had slowly seen them disappear.

When he first arrived, he was always sure they were there. He did never doubt that they were by his side, for he could see them, and he could talk to them with his fine British accent. It didn't matter that other people looked weirdly at him when he walked down the long corridors, chatting to the unicorn.

The first times he talked to psychiatrists, nothing really happened. Then, after the second week, the unicorn began paling, its colours seeming washed-out.

Then the others paled too, slowly disappearing, leaving him in despair.

He refused to talk to the psychiatrists, but somehow there poisoning words must have reached him, because he found that he could not stop his merry friends from disappearing.

When the flying mint bunny began paling, its green ears powdered with white, he couldn't stand it anymore. He ripped off the clothes the clinic had given him and dressed himself in his bed linen, carrying it like he would if he wore one of Greece's short togas. He took off his shoes and ran bare feet. And he knew that he had wings.

They might not be able to see them, but his wings were there, white and beautiful.

But when he ran into the corridor, trying to get to the door to freedom, they stopped him.

He had never been a very violent person, but when they grabbed him by the arms, pulling him back to his room, he fought harder than he ever had before.

He twisted and bit, drawing blood from one of the men that held him. He lashed out with his home-made wand, hitting someone with it so the star on top got all wrinkled.

The flying mint bunny was panicking, flying around in small circles just below the ceiling, making small sounds of discomfort.

They put him into his room and locked the door. Then a loudspeaker began talking to him.

He stood up from where he sat on the ground, trying to see the loudspeaker.

Figuring he couldn't, he sat down again, covering his ears, desperately trying to lock off from the talking

"You know they are not really there." He wanted to yell at them, to bite them, to make them understand the pain he went through as they slowly made all of his friends disappear.

"It is just voices in you head, you are just imagining it." Seeing that he couldn't lock it off, the blonde British man instead reached out to the flying mint bunny, in the hope that speaking to it could make him think of something else.

He had given up on getting answers from it some time ago, as the first things his friends lost was their voices.

He reached out, expecting it to fly to him, but his hand grabbed only the empty air.

Desperate, he looked up, trying to find the answer to why he couldn't find it, and was stunned to see that it was actually there.

It was there, right in his hand, but he couldn't touch it, and what was worse: He could almost see through its now quite transparent body.

It flew to him, flying in circles around his head, trying to comfort him, but only making it worse because of the loss of sounds and touching.

Then, with a last, mewling sigh, the flying mint bunny disappeared, its lovely mint green ears forever gone from the blonde man's sight.

So here he sat, on his knees, repeatedly pounding his hands into the cold cement floor, now stained with blood, as if enough of that would make his friends come back.

He was now completely alone, for they had taken all that he knew away from him.


End file.
